


Life After Life: a Self-Help Guide for the Undead

by circumlocute



Series: Inhumans Anonymous: Support for the Supernatural [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood and Injury, Gen, Minor Violence, Temporary Character Death, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 20:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12590088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circumlocute/pseuds/circumlocute
Summary: Karkat Vantas was stabbed to death in an alleyway at 25. But he got better.





	Life After Life: a Self-Help Guide for the Undead

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! This fic is _incredibly_ self indulgent, and will hopefully be part of a series I'm going to work on in my spare time. Additionally, it's not beta'd quite to my normal standards, because I wanted to rush it out by Halloween, so expect some edits over the next few weeks.
> 
> 2018 Edit: Hello from the future! I have edited some things about Karkat's background. I want to tell a story that is fun, inclusive, and positive, so if you notice any differences that's why. Thanks again for reading!

Karkat barely remembers dying. It wasn’t fun, he remembers that, he was mad as  _ fuck,  _ he remembers that. He doesn’t really remember what happened between walking home from work, some drunk shitsmear telling him to go back to wherever he came from (Houston, thanks), and the actual event of dying. He chalks the memory loss up to trauma and blood loss, but it still bothers him, sometimes. 

What he does remember is like a fever dream, although in hindsight Karkat knows at least most of it was real. After getting the shit kicked out of him (apparently there was a knife. there was a knife six times), Karkat remembers a face right out of a cosmetics commercial peering down at him.

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to live?”

“What?”

“You’re dying. I can fix that, if you want. Decide fast, you’ve been here a while already.”

Was this some sort of...paramedic rule? To get consent?? Karkat lifts a hand (ew, it’s bloody, he hates blood) and gives Hot Girl a wobbly thumbs up. 

Hot Girl nods, licks her lips (what the fuck), and bites her own wrist (WHAT THE FUCK). Once she’s shredded it to her satisfaction, apparently, she holds the gross, bloody spot up to Karkat’s mouth. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” It comes out more wheezy and less intimidating than Karkat would like, because lol, stabs, but he’d like to think he got the point across. 

“If you want to live, you have to drink my blood. I promise once you’re recovered we can go over my various quirks and foibles in excruciating detail. Now drink.”

Hot Girl shoves her wrist in his face. Karkat squints at her wrist. After a moment, he decides “fuck it” because he’s dying anyway and what’s a little hepatitis between alley strangers? 

He presses his lips to the cuts on her wrist and tentatively sucks. It tastes like blood, that is to say, it’s super fucking gross, but it sparks something in him. Karkat’s never wanted anything so badly; everything in him is thrumming with  _ more more more now now  _ **_now._ ** If it’s hepatitis, it’s like nothing he’s ever heard of. 

The girl shifts, and Karkat makes a noise of complaint, grabbing at her arm, but she only moves to press her wrist closer. Dimly, Karkat’s aware he’s probably delirious from blood loss and this is  _ definitely  _ the grossest thing he’s ever done, but he can’t stop. It’s like drinking liquid  _ rightness,  _ everything in him is damn near vibrating. Maybe it’s, like, drug blood? Karkat’s only smoked weed before and even then not much, do drugs do that?

Eventually, his mysterious benefactor (?) does pull her arm away—nooo, come back, if he’s gonna die at least let him die drinking her weird cocaine blood like it’s kool-aid—oh fuck she’s throwing him over her shoulder. Without whatever the hell was in this girl’s blood to focus on, Karkat receives a painful reminder that he was stabbed six times. It fucking  _ hurts _ , he’s freezing and burning in turns, and it feels like someone’s rammed icicles into his wounds. 

“Fuuuuuck me, let me die.” Karkat tries and fails not to wail into Hot Girl’s back, but every time she takes a step it feels like needles lancing through him. 

“No. Now please hush so I don’t have to deal with the police.”

“Fuck you, no.” Karkat’s normally more eloquent, but he gives himself a pass, because he’s quite literally covered two people and a pretty solid patch of the alley with his own blood. He probably can’t be expected to be in fighting form. 

Tragically, Karkat forgets to continue his tantrum, because the next thing he knows, Girl is manhandling him into a Very Expensive Car and buckling him in. 

“‘M gonna bleed on the seats.”

“You look like swiss cheese, I’d be surprised if you didn’t. I’ll have them reupholstered. Please stop talking.” 

Karkat lets his head flop back against the seat. The burning has mostly stopped, but now he’s cold as fuck. His throat feels like someone filled it with sand. 

“Is there water in your torture dungeon?”

The girl gets in the driver’s seat and sighs. “I’m afraid that won’t help. Please. Stop talking.” 

Karkat scowls at the implication he might _ ever _ shut up and resolves to bleed on her seats even more. As soon as he figures out how to control the bleeding. 

Kidnapped or not, though,  _ god _ he is tired. There’s such a wide range of weird and unpleasant sensations having their way with various parts of his body, he’s not sure which one to complain about first.  The ice in his veins? The way his throat’s so dry every exhalation hurts? The tacky cling of his bloody clothes? It’s way too fucking much. 

The last thing Karkat remembers is closing his eyes and mentally clocking out for a while. 

From there, he spends fuck knows how long curled into a ball on...a bed? Something soft? He alternates between screaming bloody murder (ha) and a restless half-awake stupor. At some point, someone comes in and helps him drink a cup full of broth (??). Whatever it is, Karkat drinks it as quickly as he can without choking. It’s delicious, he’s freezing, and the warmth of it in his stomach is something to hold on to while the rest of him shakes apart. 

 

* * *

 

He comes to an indeterminate amount of time later in the nicest torture dungeon he’s ever seen. The girl from earlier is sitting in an armchair facing the bed, sewing what looks like a dress. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I died,” Karkat croaks, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He’s really fucking thirsty. Gotta...gotta do something about that. 

“That’s, um.” The girl clears her throat. “Not entirely incorrect? Sit back down, please.”

“Fuck you, I’m getting something to drink.” ‘Something’ sounds about right. Karkat’s not sure what exactly he wants, but he knows he has to go get it, before the girl beats him to it. Which is, wow, that’s a completely insane thought. 

Or maybe not. In the blink of an eye, she’s standing in front of the door. Right, torture dungeon. One-percenter’s wet dream or not, this room is still where he was kidnapped to after, uh. Being fed drug blood? Of course she’s not going to let him leave. 

“I have, uh, refreshments? If you’ll sit down,  _ please _ , so I don’t have to manhandle you back onto the bed. You’re not thinking rationally right now.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “That’s rich! Like you’re not just going to film me starving to death and put it online for sadistic fucks with more money than sense to jack off to. Let me out, shitlick.”

Clearly this is an effective bargaining strategy. Before Karkat can start mentally berating himself and his big idiot mouth, though, Hot Girl holds up a thermos and pops the lid. 

Oh, god.

It smells like...it doesn’t smell like  _ food, _ but it’s somehow still everything he needs. It’s definitely drugs, but Karkat’s reaching for it anyway before he can stop himself. Just as quickly, the girl swats his hand and glares at him.

“Sit.”

Karkat can’t bring himself to look away from the Drugs Thermos, but he does back up until his knees hit the mattress. He feels like he should probably be winded, given the whole ‘stabbed in an alley’ deal, but that’s not even remotely a thing. Restlessness, though, yeah. That’s a thing; Karkat’s already jiggling his legs to compensate for having to sit just this long. 

“It’s key you don’t leave this room yet, Karkat. I know you probably feel fine, but until you know what’s going on, you’re a danger to yourself and others. I’ll also need to stay with you until you adjust.” 

Karkat opens his mouth to say one of several equally-rude things, but then wow hey, thermos under his nose! He settles for flipping her off with one hand while he chugs the contents.  _ Fuuuuuuck.  _ It’s so good he actually moans with relief, his whole body lighting up with it. After several long seconds spent in a food coma, Karkat realizes it tastes familiar. The broth from before?

He pops the lid off the thermos before the girl can stop him, and the warmth in his stomach turns to ice. 

It’s blood. He’s going to be sick.

“ _ What the fuck?! _ What’s wrong with you? Who gets off to feeding strangers  _ blood,  _ you sick piece of shit!”

The girl winces. “You need it to live?”

“Yeah, right! This is Twilight and you’re my knight in sparkling skin, come to sweep me off my feet and wake my latent necrophilia kink! Pull the other one.”

“Not sparkling, no. And I don’t awaken necrophiliac urges...in men, at least.” The girl smirks at him when she says that, but her eyes are laughing. Why is his captor joking around with him like they’re old friends??? This kind of kidnapping scenario is something you’d only see on TV, christ.

“So you’re trying to tell me that you’ve turned me into a vampire? What the fuck are you  _ on _ and how are you still coherent?”

“You just drank half a thermos of blood and were so enraptured by the taste of what is essentially raw meat water that you didn’t stop to check until then. I assure you, I am the most rational being in this room.”

Karkat scowls, but she has a point. The fact that he’s still considering finishing the thermos is a flashing, neon sign that Something Is Up.

“...Okay, any other proof?”

“Look at your wounds.”

With his free hand, Karkat lifts his shirt and peers down at where he vaguely remembers getting fucked with a drunk asshole’s knife. Silvery-shimmery scars contrasting sharply with the rest of his skin are the only signs he was injured at any point at all. What the fuck. 

“Fine, that’s weird, but how does that point to ‘member of the undead legion?’”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Karkat, here.” The girl produces a compact mirror from her skirt pocket and holds it out to him. He  _ does _ have a reflection, but his eyes are nearly glowing they’re so bright red, and when he curls his lip, a shiny new pair of needle teeth poke out. 

“How did you know my name?” There’s so many other questions racing around his mind, but at least that one doesn’t sound insane to ask. Hopefully it has an equally mundane answer.

“...I checked your wallet? I’m sorry, I panicked, I needed to know who you were so we could make sure you didn’t have any trouble while you recovered, and you weren’t terribly coherent.”

“Thank god. That’s better than mind reading, at least. What’s your name, or is there some secret vampire code where I’m not allowed to know that until I pass the rites of initiation or whatever?”

“I’m Kanaya.” She smiles. “I’ll answer all your questions, but it would be better if you finished that thermos first. New vampires are terribly impulsive, and I’d rather not hunger drive you to, hmm, how should I say it. Have a huge baby tantrum?”

Karkat makes a face, but he  _ is _ really fucking thirsty. He drains the thermos, tilting his head back to catch the last drops. Despite knowing what it is, Karkat finds himself disappointed there’s not more. His stomach rumbles. 

“How strictly are you rationing me?” 

Wordlessly, Kanaya moves aside the dress she’s working on to reveal several thermoses full.

 

* * *

 

Karkat drinks more than he thought he was physically capable of holding without exploding, and it’s only when his stomach starts to actually  _ hurt  _ that Kanaya pulls the thermoses away. 

He’s warm all the way to the tips of his toes. 

“So.”

Kanaya looks up and arches an eyebrow. 

“When can I leave?”

“Uh.” 

“You can’t keep me in your fucking basement or whatever forever.”

“No, I really don’t...You can leave as soon as you have enough self-control not to drink yourself sick.”

Karkat winces. “And when is that?”

“It varies? It could be as little as a week to a year or more. It gets easier, but you essentially have to relearn impulse control. Blood, to our kind, has an allure like no human substance can prepare you for.” 

“So I could leave in a week and go back home?”

Kanaya makes a face. “I don’t know how well you could go back  _ home _ . You died.”

Well, yeah, but. 

“I’m fine now?”

“You never returned from work and a fatally large pool of your blood was found in an alley. If you can explain that to the authorities’ satisfaction, you’re certainly welcome to.”

Karkat scowls. “Bullshit. There’s no way they just assumed I was  _ dead. _ ”

“You seem to enjoy being difficult. Here.” Kanaya tosses Karkat a newspaper (that he catches effortlessly, what the fuck). It’s open to a small blurb. It reads “Man Missing, Presumed Dead.”

_ Karkat Vantas, age twenty-five _ ,  _ went missing this weekend while returning from work. After he didn’t return for his shift the next morning, an extensive search was conducted. A 911 call about a large pool of blood was found to be linked to Mr. Vantas’ disappearance. If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of the killer or killers, please call at… _

Karkat feels like he’s going to be sick. He..he doesn’t speak to his family, so they probably don’t even know yet. He doesn’t have a lot of friends; turns out yelling at everyone over every little thing isn’t super endearing. His boss and coworkers hate him for the same reason. He doesn’t even know who he would go  _ to _ if he wanted to go back. What the fuck. What the fuck. 

“Oh my god.” He feels jolted out of his body, like he’s a few inches to the left of reality. He’s  _ dead,  _ he  _ died _ and came back to life and he can’t tell anyone and he’s stuck in a stranger’s house for fuck knows how long, drinking blood from who knows where. 

“I’m sorry,” Kanaya says, but she sounds miles away. 

“I was  _ murdered. _ ”

“Yes? You’re okay now, though. For a given value of okay.” 

“I was going to die in that alley and now I’m some goddamn Lestat motherfucker!”

“Lestat was a bit more charming, I’m afraid.”

“This isn’t real. This is a fucking hallucination my shitty, paranoid hindbrain cooked up to punish me.”

“I’m not going to debate while you’re making an ass out of yourself.”

“You’ll be waiting a while, then!” 

After several minutes of sitting in silence, Kanaya gets up and leaves Karkat to panic on his own. It takes nearly a month for him to function normally. During that time, he switches between “oh my god I’m starving I’m going to die stop fucking rationing me” and “oh my god I died none of this is real, I’m in a coma and this is my dream.” 

He stays in the house with Kanaya and her coven, and finds out that he’s distantly related to one member—Kankri—and that’s why Kanaya found him when she did. They insist they weren’t stalking him, but hey. Tomato, tomahto. Keeping tabs on someone, stalking. He’s mostly over it. 

Mostly. 

A few years down the line, after a particularly long bout of “I should be almost  _ thirty _ , this is so fucked up, I’m stuck in my disgusting body  _ forever”  _ Kanaya starts making passive-aggressive comments about how her sister-in-law has a great support group he should go to. 

“You need help, Karkat, and frankly I am not equipped to handle your histrionics all the time. You need to make more friends.”

So Karkat says, fine, he’ll go. 

And that’s how he ends up sitting in a circle of chairs, surrounded by the weirdest people he's ever met. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Hit me up at [my tumblr](https://felivey.tumblr.com) for art, requests, and behind the scenes chatting (eventually)!


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